


Ten years, One day, Four hours and Seven Minutes.

by susiephalange



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Thor (Movies)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Awesome Frigga, Breif moment of medical procedure, F/M, Fluff, Loki is stubborn, Not too much violence really to be tagged, Slight Violence, just a flesh wound
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-19
Updated: 2016-05-19
Packaged: 2018-06-09 12:01:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,494
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6905434
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/susiephalange/pseuds/susiephalange
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A young maid comes at the wrong end of Loki's wrath after an unimpressive royal family dinner. Folly entails.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ten years, One day, Four hours and Seven Minutes.

You had served the royal family of Asgard for nine years, seven months, twenty seven days, eight hours and thirteen minutes of your life. It had begun as a bargain for your life - either be taken by raiders, forced to do who knows what to who knows who, or be relinquished by Odin to serve his family. And so you did. You wore your woollen maid's dress with as much honour as a common woman could, and did your best at your job.

It so happened, that nine years, seven months, twenty seven days, four hours and eleven minutes ago, you'd been assigned to be Prince Loki's personal chambermaid, and, you'd done what his brother joked often about at the table.

It was nine years, seven months, twenty seven days, four hours and eleven minutes ago that you'd found yourself completely and honestly...in love with him.

Love was often confused with lust, or blind devotion when it came to young women watching men from afar. They see bodily traits and love them. They see personality quirks and love them. They see charm and money and love them. Maybe that was you, at first, but it certainly was more than that.

Like, now.

The door slams to open, a loud crack! sounding in the the room. His eyes are wild, as if he's searching for blood to spill, and has come for an alternative method of release. You've known Prince Loki from the shadows for a large portion of your life.

You can't both love him and be afraid of him.

Yet you are.

You stand still. 

 

 

Loki's dinner had gone the same way as the food did; it had started off lovely, then it all went to shi- how did Thor become the golden child of their family? He remembered a time when the two of them had been equals, but more and more, Loki feels Odin's distain for being a magic-user, a book-reader, a useless son in battle.

Dinner was horrid. And so he let out steam.

His mind was racing, his pulse aching, his words lost to him as he let out a roar that was so ungodly, it could be heard all over the land.

Loki slammed the door closed, and began methodically tossing things everywhere. A chorus of crashes and shatters filled his ears of things he'd collected over the years. Loki's boots crunched over the splintered china and pottery. He felt immortal, then, truly. Like a young god who could do whatever he pleased.

He could be better than Thor.

One intact vase on the bedside table - a hideous orange tone with orange flowers -caught his eye, and he flung it into the wall over the other side of the room.

Loki wasn't aware of the girl standing there, and watched in stilled horror as she threw herself to the floor, the vase hitting where her head had been.

Loki's breath caught in his chest.

He knew this girl. Not her name, because they'd never directly crossed paths, but her face. Her kind (s/c) face and her deep (e/c) eyes which he'd once or twice spelled himself to be invisible on slow days to watch work. She had been his servant for almost ten years, and for that long a time, he couldn't help but admit that he'd fallen a little in love with her.

"I'm a monster," Loki woke from his fit of anger, numb. He saw all the destruction he'd caused, all the lovely trinkets in his room, destroyed. He'd never done that before. "Oh no," he muttered, treading toward you.

He met your eyes. All that had been cut was a sliver under your cheekbone, and the trickle of blood shocked him. He'd never seen a servant, or even a resident of the palace bleed.

"I'm so very sorry, please forgive me -," he began. 

 

 

You leapt to your feet, head swimming with white noise. He's apologising, he's a prince, he's the prince, he's Prince Loki and he's apologising for his own act. No. It was your fault you were in the way. Not his. Not his.

"My lord," you speak your first words to him, heart racing not only from the fact you're speaking to him, but that the blood from your cheek keeps you alert and you can't believe this is how you finally talk. "S'not your place to apologise - it's it is my fault I am injured, I was slow today with my chores."

You look to the wall that is half scrubbed, and now half re-dirtied with the water of the vase, and inwardly sigh. You can't look at him. Not now. He's a caged animal, a beast you find at a zoo to ogle at, and you're a mouse.

"Little bird, I hurt you, it was I; my fault alone." Loki goes to cradle your face. "Let me help-,"

You back away from his touch. No. No. He's your master. You're the servant, scum of the palace to clean the actual scum and be silent and invisible. It was a dream to work for him, but you should have known; every dreamer must wake.

"My lord, I must go," you cry, his touch stinging your wounded cheekbone, and leaving your pail and brush, you flee.

It had been nine years, seven months, twenty seven days, eight hours and thirty three minutes since you began working for Prince Loki. Maybe that was too long.

 

 

The next day, Loki woke to all the damage he'd caused to be cleaned up, the wall mopped and rescrubbed, the pail his (h/c) haired chambermaid had left gone. His room was perfect; there wasn't a trace of what he'd done in there at all. Except for his heartbeat, which worsened his pain. He was blinded in his anger from what couldn't be helped and hurt those around him.

Loki rose and went about his daily duties as a prince - giving his stiff smile at functions, watching the entrance to the servant's quarters to see if he could find his (e/c) eyed maid...reading to forget what he'd done, and then walking a bout in the garden with his mother, Queen Frigga.

"I suppose you miss her, isn't that the trouble with you today, Loki?" The Queen pondered, producing a small pair of secateurs to trim her garden.

Loki couldn't look at his mother. He couldn't look anywhere.

"I also suppose you're wondering how I know what's happened? And that I know what exactly took place last night after dinner to your maid." The Queen continued, her smile sad. "I've moved her to a more quiet part of the palace, Loki. Somewhere where she won't be hit by vases and subjected to fits of rage."

Loki bit his lip. "I was so infuriated, I -,"

The Queen pocketed her garden tools, and turned to her younger son, her joy and pride she wasn't so prideful and joyful for for this act he had done. "Tell me everything that happened, and I'm sure we shall work out how never to allow this sort of thing to happen again."

 

 

Nine years, seven months, twenty seven days, eight hours and thirty nine minutes, and you were assigned to work as an assistant cleaner for the royal medical wing. It was a stressful job, being around Asgardians in so much pain, around Healers who never lost hope in a patient, but you found a sort of serenity in it. A calm in a storm. You cleaned the marks and messes the floor would have spilt, remove taints from the bed sheets. You even shadowed the Healer Eir as she worked. 

It had been now nine years, eight months, nineteen days, eleven hours and fifty five minutes, and you had somehow become more than a chambermaid; more than what you had been for so long and forged a part of your identity in. You now worked alongside the Lady Eir, still learning the ways of healing Asgardian wounds, but helping clean and heal the afflictions that came. Lady Eir was certain you would become a great healer one day.

You only hoped you could one day heal your broken heart.

Nine years, nine months, thirty one days, two hours and fourteen minutes. There was tell of battle arising around the palace, after Prince Thor's coronation was interrupted by an invasion of the Frost Giants from Jotenheim. From a patient you tended to, you heard that Prince Thor and Loki were in the foreign land themselves, gone to fight for Asgard. You shouldn't have felt that tug in your chest. Prince Loki was a man grown, and he chose to do with his life as much as a prince could.

Ten years, one day, four hours and seven minutes.

You stand in the Healer's wing, slowly wrapping a man's wrist after an ill-thought out twist to it in mock battle. You have forgotten to keep count of how long you've worked for the royal family, because it's not a tally of a sentence anymore. You've found peace in this place, you found something you are valued for, as a person. No longer are you called 'maid' or 'girl' or a variation of bad names for unfaithful women, but your own. You are Lady _______, Healer.

"Lady ________, Prince Loki needs tending to! He's injured from the battle of Jotenheim!" A healer in training, Terra, calls to you. You hear panic in her voice.

Before you can respond, Loki is brought in by two of Thor's friends, Hogun and Fandrall. Loki's face is paler than his normal ivory, and limp. There's a gash on his side that seems to have taken upon itself to recolour his emerald robes red.

"Terra, prepare a bed. I need the healing slab cleared and ready for use," you tell your healing staff. "Where is Lady Eir?" You ask Terra, who has made a bed.

"I am unsure, m'lady," Terra stammers.

"Find her, please." You tell her, and turning to the rest of your fleet, say, "I need his armour taken off!" 

 

 

Loki becomes lucid, falling in and out of sleep like a babe with an inflicting tooth. He's in pain, so much pain, but he doesn't want Lady Eir and her healers to see him like this.

"I need his armour taken off!" He hears. He can't put a finger to it, but that voice...he's heard it before. Somewhere.

His heart beats a little quicker. He holds on.

"Yes m'lady," a chorus of healers follow her words.

Loki feels a bout of pain course his veins, sway his mind into following into a stupor of sleep. He nearly does, it hurts so much. He can barely feel the armour from the battle slide off. But he hears one thing.

"Stay with me, my prince. Please," he hears a whisper.

Feels a kiss upon his brow.

His eyes flicker open. Has he died? Has he passed onto Hel and met with the one person he believed never to see until the end of his life? Loki doesn't believe any other possibility that could have him face to face with you, the maid he loved, the maid he hurt, the maid he regretted losing for months and months.

You.

"How?" He whispers. He isn't sure if he's asking how he's died, or how to stay with her. But she knows.

Loki's vision begins to tunnel, his gaze focused on his maid, his girl. His biggest regret. "Be strong," you murmur, hands working deftly on his chest. "Drink this," you add, lifting the milk of poppy to his lips. "I know you can."

It all fades to black, and Loki accepts it. He can die in peace. He's seen you again. 

 

 

 

"I see you've been busy."

You sit straighter. For hours, you worked on Prince Loki, cleansing his wounds, working around the clock to pause the bleeding, changing the bandages...sewing. And now, its nearly daybreak, and you're still by his bedside.

For...other reasons.

"My lady Eir," you rise quickly, stumbling over the hem of your skirt, awkwardly. "I am so sorry, yes. Prince Loki is going to live."

She smiles. "So I've told his parents," she comments, moving to you. "And, according to the Queen, I've found the reason for your devoted application to your healing last night." She smirks.

"Lady Eir, it is not what you -,"

She waves her hand. "The fact you are in love with the Prince is your ailment I cannot cure. Though, what you did was the most apt display I've seen a student of mine perform." You're speechless. For your months working for Lady Eir, you've not heard such praises from her, "Lady ________, I am not saying your love for the prince has made you better. I am saying you are better...though I do not dare say than me."

"Thank you, my lady," You curtsy, a little wobbly still from your fatigue. You can't find yourself to sleep, yet you're dead on your feet.

"Now, sleep, _________," she ushers you to the bed beside Prince Loki, and unable to do a thing but comply, you curl up. "He will be here when you wake."

 

 

Loki's eyes feel heavy when he wakes. It takes a moment for him to remember, and when he does, his heart races. He was dying. Did he die? He saw his old chambermaid, the maid he didn't know the name of yet. A kiss...

The prince is a smart man. Intelligent beyond comparison to any scholar in the castle, and he soon works out he's in the healer's wing of the castle.

"My prince?"

His heart misses a beat.

His head turns.

It's her.

She looks so tired, weary beyond anything he's seen in his life; her bright (e/c) eyes seem to be carrying baggage, her (h/c) locks limp. But Loki can't see you and see someone who looks like they've seen Death. He sees utter beauty in your features.

"My name is ________ ________, and I was your maid for many years," she introduces, her hand moving slowly toward his bed. "Since leaving your quarters, I've become a healer..."

"___________," Loki tries out, your name soft on his pallet.

"I know you are a prince and I am only a common healer, but it's been slowly poisoning me for years keeping this out of me..." He listens in rapture. He can't get enough of your voice. "For the last ten years, a day, four hours and seven minutes, I've been completely and honestly in love with you. And I know you'll marry someone worthy, someone of a position of power -,"

"________," Loki interrupts, reaching over the side of his bed. His hand is weak, but it finds yours, and together, your hand warms his. "You have forgotten to think of the possibility that I could - and do - love you."

He feels your pulse race in your hand. "And I you, Loki."

**Author's Note:**

> If you have any requests, find me on Tumblr at @susiephalange, or [@phalangewrites](https://phalangewrites.tumblr.com/request_conditions) ʕ·ᴥ·ʔ✿


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